


Sky Girl

by silverstorms



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Clarke and Murphy friendship, Clexa, F/F, It'll be fun I swear, Linctavia - Freeform, Murder Mystery, Possibly a little bit of Minty, Slow Burn, also linctavia, murphy swears too much, ps there's a lot of swearing, superhero au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4130094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverstorms/pseuds/silverstorms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the daughter of a CIA agent, Clarke Griffin knows a few things about survival. But lately, she's been feeling a reckless pull towards danger. When she learns that a murder has occurred on her college campus and that a boy named Murphy is being falsely accused, Clarke can't resist learning more. Worse, she's beginning to develop a strange, almost supernatural, ability that no one else understands- save for her enigmatic roommate, Lexa. (Just your typical Clexa college/university AU, but with a superhero twist.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! I'm silverstorms. Thank you for checking out Sky Girl, my new multichap!  
> Reviews are always appreciated, and you can also find me on tumblr at "thecommanderandtheprincess" if you have any questions.  
> Happy reading!
> 
> (Note: The rest of the story will contain more Clexa than the first chapter does.)

Clarke gripped the handle of her suitcase tightly as she dragged it up the staircase, wincing slightly with every bump. She was already beginning to regret dragging it instead of carrying it. Actually, for that matter, she was beginning to regret not having her mom come up the stairs with her and help her with her stuff. The combination of two backpacks, a suitcase, and the box she had tucked under her arm, were making things a little difficult. But forcing her mother (who was already tired from a late night at work) to carry her boxes up the stairs just seemed ridiculous. Besides, if Abby Griffin got into her daughter’s dorm room, she’d probably start freaking out about safety and escape routes and force Clarke to leave immediately.

She smiled a little at the thought. Twelve years in the CIA had made her mother a little overprotective, as some might say. In Clarke’s opinion, paranoid was a better word-- but she loved her mom and didn’t want her to worry. Few things would worry Abby more than a college dorm room with one window, on a floor filled with drunk almost-adults, and so Clarke had decided to keep her mother out of said dorm room for as long as possible.

With a relieved sigh, she reached the staircase landing and headed down the hallway, which was already crowded with students, laughing and unpacking their things. Clarke smiled as she wove her way through them, towards door number 404. She’d missed college.

Reaching the door, she pulled her suitcase to a halt and shifted the box she was carrying into her other arm so she could reach into her pocket for the room key. Before she got that far, however, the door swung open. Clarke stumbled backwards, taken aback by the sudden movement.

Standing in the doorway was a tall, almost regal-looking girl with a mass of dark-brown hair spilling over her shoulders. Her green eyes were fixed on Clarke’s face with an expression of surprise, but the expression only lasted for a moment, sliding off her face in favor of complete indifference.

“Yes?” she said, her voice faintly accented.

“Um,” said Clarke, feeling unreasonably awkward. “I-- hi. I’m Clarke?”

The girl’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Clarke Griffin,” she went on. “Your roommate, I’m guessing.”

“Ah,” said the girl, her eyes flickering up and down Clarke briefly, as though she was doing a once-over. “I’m Lexa. I took the bed on the right.” Before Clarke could say anything else, Lexa stepped around her and headed down the hallway.

“Well,” Clarke muttered, “it wouldn’t be college without an awkward roommate situation, would it?” She thought for a moment, longingly, of the dorm room she and Octavia had shared the year before. Of course, that had been before Clarke had a nervous breakdown and left school at the end of the first semester. It only made sense that Octavia and Raven had started rooming together.

She pushed her thoughts aside and stepped into her dorm room.

It was, she saw immediately, very similar to the one she’d had the year before. The walls were a faded butter-yellow sort of color, and there were two beds, pressed up into opposite corners of the room. Each bed had a window placed directly above it. Clarke smiled. That would have definitely pleased her mother.

It was hard to tell whether Clarke’s roommate-- Lexa-- had unpacked yet. Her bed was already made, complete with a colorful quilt, and her dresser had a neat line of books sitting on top of it, held in place by two bookends, but that was it. There were no pictures on the walls or knickknacks on the bedside table.

Clarke shrugged and got started on her unpacking.

 

***

Forty-five minutes later, Clarke was reasonably pleased with the state of things. Her clothes were folded and shoved into the dresser drawers, her pictures were taped up on her section of the wall, and her bed was made. With a relieved sigh, she flopped onto her bed and pulled out her cell phone, grinning when she was that she had four missed calls, all from Octavia.

Not bothering to listen to all of the messages Octavia had left, which were undoubtedly very long and rambling, she hit the call button and lay down on top of the covers, pressing the phone against her ear.

“Clarkey!” Octavia exclaimed in her ear. “Why haven’t you been answering? Where are you?”

“Please don’t make Clarkey a thing this year,” said Clarke, but she was smiling. She’d missed Octavia-- they hadn’t talked much during Clarke’s absence. “And I’m in my dorm-- the Llewellyn building, room 404.”

“404?” said Octavia. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” said Clarke. “Why--

There was a delighted squeal at the end of the other line. “Stay there!” Barely thirty seconds later, a loud knocking sound came from the other side of Clarke’s door.

A slow smile spread across Clarke’s face. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Open up!” a chorus of excited voice called from the other side of the door. Clarke’s smile grew. She rolled off of her bed, rushed over to the door, and opened it.

“Clarke!” shouted Octavia, launching herself straight into Clarke’s arms. Clarke staggered a bit as she wrapped her arms around the smaller girl and hugged her tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of Octavia’s lavender perfume.

When Octavia stepped back, the darker-haired girl standing to her left spread her arms, a wide grin spreading across her face. “Forgot about me, did you?”

“As if I could ever forget about my favorite person,” said Clarke, stepping into Raven’s arms and hugging her.

“Damn straight,” said Raven, with a firm nod, but she hugged Clarke back just as tightly.

“Clarkey!” exclaimed Monty.

“Please don’t make that a thing,” Clarke pleaded, but she was laughing. She squeezed his hand quickly, ruffled Jasper’s hair, which was an old habit of hers, and turned towards Bellamy, who gave her a grin.

“Nice to see you again, Sky Girl,” he said. The nickname was a long-standing joke between her and the rest of them, a reference to the way Clarke was always getting distracted from conversations by the shapes of clouds and the colors of the sunset.

“Glad to see someone has the right nickname,” she said, returning his smile. She turned back towards Octavia. “So, um, what exactly is going on here? Where were you guys?”

“We were in our room,” said Raven, gesturing at Octavia.

“We’re just across the hall!” said Octavia. “I can’t believe we didn’t realize you were here yet. We could have helped you unpack!”

“The last thing anyone needs is for you to help them unpack, O,” said Bellamy.

“He’s just mad because I messed with his very special _collector’s edition_ Star Wars action figures,” said Octavia, rolling her eyes.

“Those are valuable!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” said Octavia. She clapped her hands together. “So! What are we doing? Where are we going?”

“I vote for food,” said Jasper.

“You always vote for food,” said Octavia.

“Food is delicious,” said Raven. “Anyways, I second his vote. I’m starving.”

“Oh, fine,” said Octavia. “Where to?”

“Maybe the dining hall that’s full of free food?”

“You guys are so lame.”

Monty nudged Clarke on the shoulder. “What are you grinning about?”

“I missed you guys,” she said simply.

Octavia wrapped her arm around Clarke’s shoulders. “We missed you too, Clarkey.”

Clarke groaned.

***

 

In the end, they wound up going to the dining hall, if only because they had all missed the tacos over summer break. If there was one thing every student on campus collectively agreed on, it was the deliciousness of the tacos.

 

“So,” said Clarke, as she picked up her taco and attempted to keep it from falling apart, “what’s new, guys? Any relationships I need to hear about? Anyone I need to beat up?”

 

“Mama Clarke is back at it,” said Jasper.

 

The others laughed, and Clarke laughed with them, but deep down she was thinking _If only you knew._

 

***

Clarke had first started learning self-defense at the age of seven. Her mother, who worked for the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States government, considered it a high priority, as did her father, who worked as a private bodyguard. Together, they had taught her dozens of skills: how to throw a good punch, how to climb walls with and without gear, the art of camouflage, the best places to hide bodies, how to shoot a gun, and many more things they considered essential.

As a kid, Clarke had thought her training was fun. It was like she was training to be a superhero, or something. As she grew older, however, she began to question her parent's paranoia. Still, she honored their wishes. She continued her training, practiced her survival skills, and never told anyone about it, but somewhere along the way, the fun evaporated. She’d never once had to use her defensive skills, and she didn’t really understand what the point of it was.

But that year, things were going to change.

Clarke had a plan. She was fast, she was strong, and she was dangerous. She was going to make it her mission to help other students on campus, to ensure that they got home safe and didn’t drink too much and didn’t hurt themselves… and that they didn’t break down the way she had the previous year.

She’d left college in a hurry after her father’s death, returning home without saying goodbye to her friends. For the next three months, she’d sat on the couch and stared at the ceiling, eating Ramen Noodles and doodling on her jeans in black sharpie. Things had gone on like that until the day her mother had come into the room with some sort of prescription. A few small blue pills, and suddenly Clarke felt alive again.

She didn’t know what, exactly, her mother had given her, but from that moment on, she had energy, purpose. She knew what she wanted to do. She just had to hope that lost feeling didn’t overwhelm her again.

  
Clarke shoved that thought aside. _I’m fine now_ , she thought. _I got help and I’m fine. Now it’s my turn to help everyone else._

 

***

“Earth to Sky Girl!”

Clarke jumped. “What?”

“There she goes again,” said Octavia, rolling her eyes. “Have you been listening to anything we said?”

“No,” Clarke admitted.

“We were just wondering if you’re ever going to tell us about your vacation,” said Jasper eagerly, leaning forward.

Octavia smacked him on the arm. “No, we weren’t, because we’re good friends and we aren’t going to pry into Clarke’s business.”

“It’s okay, Octavia,” Clarke said slowly, as she looked around the table and realized that her friends were all watching her. She bit her lip. They deserved answers.

“Look,” she said. “I know you’re all worried about me, and I know I sort of had a nervous breakdown last year and freaked you out. But really, I’m fine now. I went to therapy and all that, and I’m okay. So please don’t worry about me.”

Octavia took her hand and squeezed it. “We just want to make sure you’re okay, Sky Girl.”

Clarke smiled at them. “I know, and I really appreciate it. But seriously, my vacation was super boring. I mostly binge-watched things on Netflix and planted vegetables with my mom.”

“Vegetables?”

“She thought it would be therapeutic or something,” said Clarke, rolling her eyes. “Apparently working in nature is supposed to soothe troubled minds. I tried to convince her that it just made me want to sprinkle salt on the ground so all her zucchini would die, but she ignored me.”

The others laughed.

“You think I’m joking, but I’m really not. That’s basically all I did. Now come on, tell me about your lives! Girlfriends, boyfriends, et cetera? Exam failures? I need to know all the juicy details.”

“Well,” said Octavia, raising her eyebrows. “Bellamy got a _girlfriend_.”

“Not my girlfriend,” said Bellamy.

“Her name’s Echo,” said Jasper. “Totally hot.”

Bellamy glared at him.

“What?” said Jasper. “I thought she wasn’t your girlfriend.”

“We all did okay on our exams, I think,” said Octavia, “although Jasper and I didn’t really start studying for our history final until about fourteen hours before. But I got a B-minus, so it’s all good.”

Clarke shook her head. “I think we need to have tutoring sessions this year.”

Her friends all groaned.

A few minutes later, when there was a lull in the conversation, Clarke glanced around the dining hall and noticed that one boy was sitting alone with his tray of food. She frowned. It wasn’t normal to see someone sitting alone. Almost everyone ate in groups.

She nudged Octavia on the shoulder and nodded in the boy’s direction. “Who’s that?”

Octavia followed Clarke’s line of sight. Her eyes widened slightly when they landed on the boy. “That’s Murphy, and if you take him on as one of your charity cases, I’ll kill you.”

“Why?” said Clarke, frowning. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s a murderer,” said Jasper, who looked unreasonably excited.

“What?”

“I guess you probably didn’t hear about it, seeing as you were gone and all,” said Raven, “but you remember that girl, Costia, who was in our Lit class last year? She died last year, supposedly in an accident, but everyone’s convinced it was Murphy who did it.”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “What happened? And why do they think it was him?”

“They found her lying at the bottom of the library steps,” said Monty, shaking his head. His dark eyes were unusually serious.

“The school tried to pass it off as an accident,” said Octavia, “but Piper Lewis says she saw them carting the body away, and it was way too bloody for Costia to have just fallen down the stairs.”

“And Murphy? Why do they think it was him?”

“Because,” said Bellamy, “someone saw them walking to the library together, but by the time they found the body, Murphy was gone.”

 

***

Clarke lay as still as possible and tried to keep her breathing even. After spending nearly five hours hanging out with her friends, she’d headed home and found Lexa sitting on her bed, reading. Neither girl had spoken to the other (Clarke didn’t want to interrupt her roommate’s reading) until Lexa said “I’m going to sleep” and climbed under the covers. Clarke had turned off the light and followed suit.

Of course, she wasn’t ready to go to bed. Not even close. But she wanted to be sure that Lexa was asleep before sneaking out.

Finally, when she was certain the other girl was sleeping soundly, Clarke slipped out of bed and quickly changed her clothes. She supposed that there was no reason to be sneaky-- after all, it wasn’t her roommate’s business what she did with her time-- but she felt that the less anyone knew, the less complicated things would be. Besides, ever since that day in late spring, when her mother handed her the blue pill, Clarke had been filled with a sort of restless energy. It was as though her body was trying to make up for all the months she’d spent sitting on the couch, lethargic.

She wanted to push herself. She wanted to do something _hard_.

So instead of unlocking the door and walking down the hallway, she pushed open her bedroom window, climbed over the windowsill, and began the process of climbing down the wall.

By the time she reached the bottom of the wall, her fingers were aching slightly and there was sweat dripping down the back of her neck. She stood in the scratchy grass and stared up at the window of her room. From the ground, the vine-covered brick wall looked insurmountably high up, a stupidly dangerous thing to climb. So why had she done it?

  
She shook her head and started to make her way across campus.

***

There was always a lot going on during the first night back at school. With that restless energy still twisting within her, Clarke circled around campus. She guided a few wandering drunk students to their dorms, slipped in and out of a few frat parties to make sure nothing awful was happening, and kept walking. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was someone, somewhere, that needed her help, but there was no reason for her to feel that way.

 _I’m just being silly_ , she thought, and yet she couldn’t make herself go back into her dorm room and sleep. The feeling simply wouldn’t leave her.

Finally, after circling around the library at least three times, she sat down on a bench, beneath a streetlight, and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply.

_Where is it that I need to be? Where?_

Something in her chest gave a little tug. She sat up and started walking, following the feeling and praying that she wasn’t being completely crazy. She headed down the sidewalk, across the lawn, towards the fountain-- and then she spotted him.

The possibly-a-murderer boy, Murphy, was sitting on the edge of the fountain. As Clarke watched, he tilted his head back and took a long drink from a bottle. She didn’t think it contained water.

 _I should just go to bed_ , she thought. _Approaching strange, creepy boys who are drinking alcohol at one in the morning is exactly the kind of thing your parents trained you not to do._

And yet…

Acting once again, on some sort of instinct, Clarke pulled her hood up, covering her distinctive blonde hair, and crept closer. She was certain that the boy on the fountain was Murphy. Even in the dim lighting, she recognized his pale skin and dark, slicked-back hair. That didn’t mean she wanted him to recognize her, or remember her face and spot her again at a later date.

“Murphy?” she said, when she was close.

He jumped, causing liquid to splash out of the bottle. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry.” Clarke kept her head down and tried to change the pitch of her voice a little bit. “I guess I was a little quiet.”

“Quiet? More like a creepy invisible ninja. Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” She strongly suspected he was glaring at her. She kept her head down.

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” she said, thinking as she said it that there couldn’t be anything more cliche. She tried to get a look at him without showing him her face.

“Am I having some sort of drunken delusion or something?” said Murphy. “Is that it?”

“No,” said Clarke. She sighed. “Listen, can I ask you something?”

“Oh, I see what this about,” he said, his voice growing harsher. “I should have fucking guessed. Fine. I killed Costia. That’s what you want me to say, isn’t it? You won’t believe me if I say anything else, will you?”

“No,” said Clarke hastily. “That’s not what I want you to say. I just want to know the truth.”

Murphy snorted. “That’s hilarious. Absolutely hilarious. Costia is dead and everyone thinks I killed her, including some stupid girl wearing a stupid hood and trying to play detective.” He got to his feet, a little unsteadily, and turned away from her.

“So you didn’t kill her,” said Clarke. She wasn’t sure how or why-- maybe it was instinct, or maybe something else-- but she was certain that  it was true.

He didn’t turn around, but he did stop walking. “I don’t kill my friends.”

“Okay,” said Clarke. “So who did kill her?”

“If I knew that, they’d be dead by now.” He turned back towards her. “Why do you care, anyways?”

“I’m going to figure out who killed her,” said Clarke, feeling a rush of fear and excitement as she spoke the words. _That’s it_ , she thought. _That’s what I’ve been looking for all night long._ “I’m going to solve the mystery.”

“Are you really,” said Murphy. “That’s nice of you.”

“I’m serious.”

“And what makes you think that you, whoever you are, will be able to do that?”

“Because,” said Clarke. “I’m not like most other people. I can do things other people can’t.”

 _It’s not a lie_ , she thought. _Because I can. I can do things other people can’t. And now I’m going to put that to good use._

“Ah,” said Murphy. “I see. You’re a superhero.”

“Exactly,” said Clarke. “A superhero.”

“Well then, mystery girl,” he said. “Seeing as I’m drunk and I want to know who killed my friend, I guess I’m your fucking sidekick.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate it :)

The bottom of the laptop was burning into Clarke’s legs. She shifted a little, yelping as a pins-and-needles feeling shot through her lower body. She’d been sitting still so long, her legs had gone numb.

It was nine o’clock in the morning, the day after her nighttime meeting with Murphy, and she couldn’t stop staring at her computer screen, where she had all the information Murphy had given her typed up in a neat Google Drive document.

According to Murphy’s story, on March 25th, the day Costia died, he’d left his Chemistry class, spotted Costia, walked with her to the library, and then continued on to his dorm room, where he’d spent the rest of his afternoon playing videogames-- until, of course, he got the call that his friend was dead.

In truth, Clarke knew that his story wasn’t especially solid. It was unlikely that anyone remembered seeing him walk back to his dorm room on that exact day, and since he’d spent the afternoon alone, there was no one to confirm where he’d been or what he’d been doing.

But for whatever reason, she believed him-- and what’s more, she wanted to help him. Ever since their meeting the night before, there was a burning energy in her chest, a feeling that something was driving her forward. As bizarre and twisted as it was, the idea that she was going to solve the mystery of Costia’s murder felt… well… _right._

At that exact moment, the door of Clarke’s dorm room burst open and Lexa strode in. Clarke jumped, and then immediately felt stupid for doing so. After all, she was supposed to have good instincts. But something about the sight of Lexa seemed to knock all that straight out of her.

For starters, the girl seemed to move completely silently. There was no sign that she was approaching until the door flew open. More than that, however, was the overall  _presence_ of her. Everything, from her thick brown hair with just a few slender braids twisted in, to her calm green eyes, made her seem commanding, somehow. Though she was dressed casually in a pair of frayed, cut-off jean shorts and a thin white t-shirt, Clarke could easily imagine her dressed in armor, leading an army.

Something flew through the air, towards Clarke’s face. This time, her instincts kicked in and she snatched it out of the air. A moment later, she realized that it was a granola bar, wrapped in crinkly packaging.

When she looked up, Lexa was watching her.

“Um,” said Clarke. “Thanks?”

“It’s nine o’clock and you haven’t had breakfast,” said Lexa, her face expressionless. “You ought to eat, you know. You shouldn’t go to class hungry.”

“Oh,” said Clarke. “I, um, don’t have class until nine-thirty. But thank you. You’re right, I should eat. I got distracted.” Hastily, feeling that she was going to offend her roommate otherwise, she unwrapped the granola bar and took a quick bite.

Lexa eyed for another moment before saying “Do you need assistance finding your class?”

Clarke frowned. “What?”

“You may not know your way around campus yet,” Lexa said.

Then Clarke understood. “Oh! No, I-- I’m not a freshman.”

Lexa blinked. “You are not?”

“No,” said Clarke. “I’m a sophomore. I mean, sort of. I left at the end of the first semester last year. But thank you.”

Lexa nodded once, as though she was absorbing the information and filing it away for later. “So you do not require help.”

“Thank you, but no,” said Clarke. “Although-- I guess I don’t know really know where the art building is. I didn’t take any art classes last year. But I’m sure I’ll find it.”

“I will show you,” said Lexa.

Clarke blinked. She was surprised that her roommate was speaking to her at all, let alone volunteering to guide Clarke places. Her first impression of the girl hadn’t been that she was especially friendly or helpful. But she’d only known Lexa for a day. Maybe her first impression had been wrong.

“Okay,” she said, closing her laptop and sliding off of the bed. “That would be great. Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Clarke,” said Lexa. Not for the first time, Clarke wondered about her accent and her strangely formal way of speaking, but she felt that it would be rude to inquire about either. Instead, she just grabbed her sketchpad and pencils, shoved them into her bag, and straightened up. “Um, whenever you’re ready, I guess.”

“Come,” said Lexa. “What class are you taking?” She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

Clarke followed her. “Painting I,” she said, as the door clicked shut behind them.

“Ah. You like to paint, then?”

“I used to do it a lot when I was little,” Clarke said. “I haven’t done it in… a long time.”

Lexa glanced over at her with her chilly green eyes. “Why not?”

She chewed on her lower lip for a moment before answering. “I guess I just stopped. But my mom-- but I want to start doing it again.”

“Why does your mother want you to start painting again?” said Lexa. She walked quickly. Clarke had to lengthen her strides to catch up.

“You don’t miss much, do you?” she said.

“I pay attention,” said Lexa.

“Apparently.” Clarke ran her fingers through her hair. “I mean, it’s not just my mom. I want to get back to painting, too. It was just her idea, originally… she thought it might help me cope with… stuff.”

“I see,” said Lexa, with a firm nod. “That is good, then.” She shoved open the door of their building and headed down the sidewalk, still taking ridiculously long strides.

“What about you?” said Clarke, realizing that she didn’t actually know anything about her roommate. “What classes are you taking? What’s your major?”

“Psychology,” said Lexa. “With a minor in political science.”

Clarke raised her eyebrows. “Does that mean you’re going to psychoanalyze everything I do?”

“Possibly,” said Lexa. “That depends on what sort of things you do.” She stopped walking and pointed ahead. “That is your building, right there.”

“Oh,” said Clarke, coming to an abrupt stop. “Thank you for walking with me.”

“You are welcome, Clarke,” said Lexa. She spoke Clarke’s name carefully, as though she was just starting to get used to it. “Goodbye for now.”

“Bye,” said Clarke, waving. She watched for a moment, a Lexa walked away, then turned and headed for her building. She was still a little bit early, so she walked slowly, taking in the familiar sight of the campus, with its red brick buildings, matching paths, and neat rows of gnarled crabapple trees.

It was strange, she thought,  how peaceful and calm everything looked. You would have a hard time believing that a girl had been murdered there just a year before. Truthfully, Clarke couldn’t believe that the rest of the students on campus weren’t freaking out about Costia’s death-- and the university, for that matter. _Shouldn’t they be more worried that a student was murdered on campus?_ _Or are they still convinced that Costia’s death was an accident?_

Clarke thought back to what Murphy had told her the night before. According to him, Costia’s body had been almost completely covered in blood, and it had appeared to him that she had multiple stab wounds.

_Multiple stab wounds._ Clarke shuddered. _Who the hell stabs people these days, anyways?_

Distracted by her thoughts, she walked straight into someone. As their coffee cup tumbled from their hand, her body seemed to go into autopilot mode. She ducked towards the cup and snatched it from the air with both hands, straightening up and handing it back to the owner before a single drop could spill.

The boy standing in front of her (although _man_ might have been a better term) had brown skin and dark, almost brooding eyes. He was so tall and muscular, Clarke was surprised when he accepted the cup with cautious hands before looking up and smiling at her.

“Fast reflexes,” he said.

“Just luck, I think,” said Clarke, although she had to admit to herself that her catch had been unusually good.

“It didn’t even spill.” He had a friendly smile. “You must have been a bit distracted there.”

“I was,” said Clarke. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“Hey, no need to apologize,” he said. “You prevented me from losing my coffee. I owe you.”

“Yeah, but I’m the reason you would have lost it in the first place,” said Clarke, grinning.

“True,” he said. “So I guess it cancels out.”

“Except now you’re stuck in this conversation with me,” said Clarke. “So really you should hate me by now, since I’m probably making you late or something.”

“Are you a law major?” he said. “Because apparently you really love arguing.”

Clarke laughed. “Pre-med, actually. And if you think I love to argue, you should meet Octavia.”

“Octavia?”

“One of my best friends.” Clarke suddenly realized she hadn’t actually introduced herself yet. “I’m Clarke Griffin, by the way.”

“Lincoln.”

They shook hands.

“So,” said Lincoln, “where are you headed?”

“Just up ahead here,” said Clarke, pointing at the building. “Painting I.”

“Me too, actually.”

She blinked. “Really?”

He laughed. “I know I look more like a sumo wrestler, but yeah.”

Clarke pressed her hand against her mouth for a moment before saying “I’m sorry, that was really rude. I’m so out of it today. God.”

Lincoln just laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I mean, I accused you of being a law major.”

“This is true,” said Clarke. “But I’m still an idiot. I’m really sorry. I have a lot going on at the moment.”

“Everyone is always surprised that I like art, honestly,” said Lincoln. “It’s not a big deal. Come on, we should probably head towards class..”

Clarke nodded her agreement, and they fell into step as they headed for the art building. “So,” she said, “what’s your major?”

“Peace and conflict studies,” he said. “Again, doesn’t exactly fit the look.”

“No, that’s cool!” said Clarke. “You really should meet Octavia. She could use a few lessons in peace.”

“Now you’re making me curious about her,” said Lincoln.

Clarke grinned. “Good. I’ll have to introduce you.” Since he seemed to know where he was going, she followed him into the art building and down the hallway.

“What year are you, by the way?” Lincoln asked.

“Sophomore. You?”

“Junior.”

“Cool,” said Clarke. She stepped through the door of the room where Painting I was held and was immediately surprised by how spacious and bright it was.

Standing in the front of the room was a woman with short, bright-red hair. “Come on in, everybody,” she said. “Let’s get started!”

Clarke sat down next to Lincoln and reached for her sketchpad.

* * *

Three hours later, Clarke was sitting in her Organic Chemistry class, waiting for the professor to arrive. The girl sitting next to her, who had shoulder-length dark brown hair, looked vaguely friendly, so Clarke scooted over a little bit and asked “Do you know what time this is supposed to start?”

“About five minutes ago, I think,” said the girl. “I’ve heard that Dr. Wallace is always late, though.”

“Really? That sort of sucks,” said Clarke.

“Sort of, yeah,” said the girl. “But at least it means there’s a better chance of not getting marked late, right?”

“True,” said Clarke.

“I’m Maya, by the way,” said the other girl.

“I’m Clarke.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too!” Maya leaned forward. “Have you heard the stories about Dr. Wallace? I’m actually kind of worried to be taking his class. He’s so intimidating.”

Clarke shook her head. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

“Oh, nothing!” said Maya. “Except he’s _amazing_ , that’s all. Have you heard that he’s working on some sort of serum that’s designed to help patients with cerebral palsy relax their muscles and possibly control their movements?”

“Huh,” said Clarke. “That’s interesting. Although can’t you do that with Botox injections?”

“I think so, but it doesn’t always work,” said Maya. “Hey, look, there he is!”

Sure enough, the professor was taking his spot at the front of his classroom. Clarke opened her notebook and started to take notes.

* * *

By the time she was finished with her final class of the day, English, all Clarke wanted to do was go home, crawl into bed, and sleep.

“Come on, Clarkey!” said Octavia, tugging on her arm.

“There’s no way you’re not hungry,” said Jasper.

Normally, Clarke would have been happy that her friends had English class with her. Actually, she was happy to have the class with them. She just wished, at that particular moment, that they would leave her alone.

“Guys,” she said, wearily, running her fingers through her hair, “I would, but I’m really tired, and--

“Clarke?”

She turned to see Lincoln standing in front of her.

“Hey!” she said, surprised to see him.

“You forgot your notebook in painting earlier,” he said, digging it out of his bag and handing it to her.

“Oh!” she said. “Thank you so much.” She hadn’t even realized it was gone, but she definitely would have missed it later in the day.

“No problem,” said Lincoln.

“Who’s this?” said Octavia, with considerable interest, moving forward.

Clarke grinned. “I’m glad you asked. Octavia, this is Lincoln. Lincoln, this is Octavia. You two have fun chatting.” Before anyone could protest, she turned and hurried towards the Llewelyn building.

* * *

With a heavy sigh of relief, Clarke pushed her room key into the lock and twisted it. She was more than ready to collapse into bed and watch things on Netflix.

When she opened the door, however, it immediately became clear that her Netflix binge-watching session was not to be.

Standing in the middle of the room, her dark-brown hair wild and tangled around her face, was Lexa. There was a wild expression on her face, and the floor all around her was chaotic: books, blankets, and clothing were scattered everywhere. Though Clarke’s side of the room was completely untouched, Lexa’s was a complete disaster.

Clarke froze.

It seemed to take Lexa a moment to realize that Clarke was standing in the doorway, but when she did, her green eyes widened with shock. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath before speaking, but when she did, her voice sounded calm and even.

“Clarke,” she said. Their eyes were fastened on one another. Clarke felt like her whole body had turned to ice-- she couldn’t get herself to move.

“I apologize for the mess,” Lexa continued. “I will clean it up. I got angry, but I should not have reacted in this way.”

“Lexa, it’s fine,” said Clarke. “Really, I don’t mind the mess. But is everything okay? What happened?”

Her roommate hesitated, tugging on one of the slender braids woven into her hair, before saying “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“Really?” said Clarke, raising her eyebrows. “Because normally, when people are fine, they don’t go around smashing things.”

“I know,” said Lexa, lowering her gaze. “And I am sorry. I should not have done this.”

Somehow, that made Clarke feel terrible. She took a few steps closer, weaving her way through the chaos of the floor until she was standing in front of Lexa.

“Listen,” she said. Lexa’s head jerked up-- she seemed shocked by Clarke’s sudden closeness. Clarke noticed for the first time that her roommate had freckles. She swallowed hard before continuing. “Like I said before, it’s fine. I’ll help you clean it up.”

Lexa stared back at her for a moment before licking her lips and saying “You don’t have to do that, Clarke. I will be fine.”

Clarke smiled. “Yeah, I know. Come on.” She stepped away from Lexa and crouched down on the floor. “Hey, this is really cute,” she said, lifting a floral-patterned top.

“You should borrow it,” said Lexa, seeming to relax a little. She knelt down and began to sort through her clothes and fold them. “It will look lovely on you.”

Clarke’s cheeks turned warm. “Thank you.”

They spent the next half hour tidying things up, only speaking occasionally. Lexa didn’t exactly seem comfortable with Clarke just yet, and she didn’t want to push things, although she couldn’t help but feel a bit curious about what had upset Lexa so much. She got the feeling that Lexa was normally pretty controlled when it came to emotions, but she also got the feeling that whatever had upset her had been pretty serious.

When they were finished, Lexa thanked her very seriously, apologized one more time, and left the room. Clarke sat down at her bed and stared at the other side of the room for a moment. There was no way anyone would guess what a disaster it had been just thirty minutes earlier. In fact, if Clarke had arrived just a little while later, she probably wouldn’t have even known that Lexa was upset. The thought disturbed her slightly.

One thing was clear: she was definitely ready to do nothing. She grabbed her laptop and collapsed onto her bed, burrowing into her blankets. She needed some downtime.

* * *

Thirty minutes into some sort of ridiculous anime, Clarke’s thoughts kept returning to Costia. Finally, realizing that she had absolutely no idea what the characters were doing and hadn’t been paying attention to the subtitles, she closed out of the anime and opened a new window. She hesitated for a moment before typing _Costia McCoy_ into her search bar. A Facebook profile was the first thing to pop up. She clicked on it.

It was clear that someone, probably a family member, had changed  a few things about her account since she died-- her cover photo was a banner that read _In Loving Memory of Costia McCoy._ Her profile picture looked like it was still the same, however. It was clearly a selfie. In it, Costia was smiling brightly, her dark eyes warm and her hair, brown with the slightest hint of gold, seemed to float around her face .

Clarke scrolled down. There were tons of posts from other people, saying things like “Absolutely heartbroken-- we will miss you so much” and “Costia, my amazing friend, I know you’re in heaven now.” Actually getting to Costia’s own posts would take forever. Instead, she clicked on the “Pictures” header and scrolled down a little ways.

Immediately, one jumped out at her. She clicked on it so that she could see it full-size.

It was another selfie, but this time Costia wasn’t alone. To her left was Murphy, who looked like he was rolling his eyes and was completely disgusted with the whole selfie thing, but at the same time, he looked happy. Next to him was a girl with long, tangled brown hair and a rogue smile, a bandana covering the top of her head. A moment later, Clarke realized that Murphy had his arm around her shoulders.

She frowned as she read the caption of the photo: “Selfie night with my loves-- with John Murphy and Emori Allister.” It was obvious that this Emori girl, whoever she was, had been important to both Costia and Murphy, so why hadn’t Murphy mentioned her at all?

After thinking about it for a minute or two, she pulled up Gmail and began creating a new account.

Ten minutes later, Clarke had a new email address: [skygirl17@gmail.com](mailto:skygirl17@gmail.com)

It was a school-wide policy that everyone on campus had their own school address, but since the email addresses were just a combination of their first and last names, Clarke didn’t want to use hers. She didn’t really want Murphy to know who she was-- she had the feeling that it might complicate things a bit, hence the fake account.

She leaned back against her pillows and started typing.

* * *

[skygirl17@gmail.com](mailto:skygirl17@gmail.com) to [john.murphy.edu@gmail.com](mailto:john.murphy.edu@gmail.com)

 

Hey, Murphy. It’s me, the girl from last night. Didn’t really know how to reach you, so I’m hoping you get this.

Anyways, I was searching Costia’s Facebook for clues and I was just wondering… who’s Emori?

Thanks for your help.

 

[john.murphy.edu@gmail.com](mailto:john.murphy.edu@gmail.com) to [skygirl17@gmail.com](mailto:skygirl17@gmail.com)

 

Sky Girl? Is that your superhero name or something? God, that’s lame.

Why the fuck does it matter who Emori is? Stalk her on facebook if you’re so goddamn curious.

 

[skygirl17@gmail.com](mailto:skygirl17@gmail.com) to john.murphy.edu@gmail.com

 

Wow, you swear a lot. Yes, that’s my superhero name, get over it. You should really pick a sidekick name, since we’re a team and all.

I was just wondering why you didn’t mention her, that’s all. I mean, the three of you were clearly friends. And I did, but she never seems to post anything.

 

[john.murphy.edu@gmail.com](mailto:john.murphy.edu@gmail.com) to [skygirl17@gmail.com](mailto:skygirl17@gmail.com)

 

I’m very fucking expressive when it comes to language. And if you think I’m going to name myself Star Boy or something like that, this partnership ends right now. I can’t handle any more of your obvious insanity.

Yeah, well, we’re not friends anymore, so shut up about it.

Obviously. She hates Facebook.

 

[skygirl17@gmail.com](mailto:skygirl17@gmail.com) to [john.murphy.edu@gmail.com](mailto:john.murphy.edu@gmail.com)

Star Boy it is.

Why aren’t you friends anymore?

 

[john.murphy.edu@gmail.com](mailto:john.murphy.edu@gmail.com) to [skygirl17@gmail.com](mailto:skygirl17@gmail.com)

Keep that up and I will be a murderer.

Oh, I don’t know, maybe because Costia is dead and Emori thinks I killed her? no, no, that couldn’t be it, not at all.

 

[skygirl17@gmail.com](mailto:skygirl17@gmail.com) to [john.murphy.edu@gmail.com](mailto:john.murphy.edu@gmail.com)

Have you tried telling her that you didn’t?

 

[john.murphy.edu@gmail.com](mailto:john.murphy.edu@gmail.com) to [skygirl17@gmail.com](mailto:skygirl17@gmail.com)

Fuck off, Sky Girl.

* * *

Clarke decided against replying. Anything she could say would probably just piss him off more.

She realized, with surprise, that all of her exhaustion from earlier had completely faded away. That itch she’d had the night before-- the longing to go somewhere, to do something-- had reappeared.

Now, however, she actually had something to get done.

She was going to question Emori.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I would love to know what you thought of the chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I UPDATED. I'm really sorry. Things have been crazy. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

The bar was small and mostly empty, with peeling faux-leather seats and a bartender who looked half-asleep. It had taken Clarke a while, but after a few texts with Octavia, she’d learned that Emori frequently hung out at a little bar called Grounder’s, which luckily wasn’t too far off campus. One of the most useful things about Octavia was that she always seemed to know everything about everyone on campus. Of course, she was probably going to assume that Clarke had a crush on Emori and tease her about it endlessly, but that couldn’t really be helped.

In an attempt to disguise herself, Clarke had all of her hair pulled up under the hood of her sweatshirt, and she was wearing large black sunglasses, as well as bronzer on her skin and red lipstick. It certainly wasn’t the best disguise in the world, but she was hoping it would keep Emori from recognizing her later on.

 _I really need to get a wig or something_ , Clarke thought. She entertained herself for a moment, imagining a number of crazy disguises she could wear to keep people from recognizing her. _Maybe I should get a trench coat. Or one of those really stupid hats people wear in detective movies._

“Are you going to order or what?”

It took Clarke a moment to realize that it was the bartender who had spoken. The woman sitting behind the bar, who had high cheekbones and intense eyes, was giving her a dark stare. 

“Ah, no," said Clarke, shifting anxiously. "I’m fine. I’m just… meeting a friend.”

“Who meet a friend in a bar if they’re not going to drink?” said the bartender, rolling her eyes. "Actually, you know what? I don't care. Go away." She laid her head down on the bar and closed her eyes. Clarke decided to sit down.

Once she was tucked away in a corner booth of the bar, she collapsed against the squishy red seat. There was only one other person in the room, an old man sitting by himself in the corner, eating cheese fries, and there was no sign of Emori anywhere. Clarke closed her eyes. Maybe this hadn’t been her brightest idea. After all, it was Tuesday. Why would Emori be at a bar on a Tuesday?

Then the sound of jangling bells reached her ears. A moment later, a girl’s voice called out “Anya, wake up and give me my damn alcohol.”

“Damn, Emori, calm down and ask nicely."

Clarke sat bolt upright.

“Just give me the drink, would you? It's been a rough day. ”

“One of these days someone is going to realize that you’re underage, you know.”

“That’s why I only come in when you’re here.”

“And what if I decide to card you?”

“I’ll break your face.”

“So then you can get in trouble for underage drinking and assault, all in one go?”

“Are you going to give me my drink, or do I have to make it myself?”

“As if. Fine, I’ll make it. Usual?”

“Yeah.”

A few moments later, a girl was stomping past Clarke, a backpack slung over her shoulders and a drink in her hand. She slid into a nearby booth and took a long sip of her drink before opening her bag and taking out some books. Clarke took advantage of the moment to study her surreptitiously. Just like in Costia’s Facebook picture, Emori had a bandana wrapped around her forehead, covering part of her hair, so Clarke was guessing that was normal attire for her. She was shorter than Clarke had thought she would be, and she had a number on intricate tattoos on her arms.

Emori glanced up. “Any particular reason you’re staring at me?”

Apparently she hadn’t been as stealthy as she’d thought.

“Um,” she said awkwardly. “Sort of?”

Emori raised her eyebrows. “Well?”

Clarke decided to go for it. She stood up and walked over to Emori’s booth, sliding into the seat opposite the other girl.

“I was actually looking for you,” she said. “I want to talk to you about Costia.”

Emori’s face darkened. “Who the fuck are you?”

Her reaction was so similar to Murphy’s, Clarke wanted to laugh. She adjusted her sunglasses and sat down.

“Look,” she said. “I know you think that Murphy killed Costia, but I just don’t think that’s what happened. I’m trying to figure out what actually _did_ happen.”

Emori stared at Clarke for a moment before speaking. “I don’t think that Murphy killed Costia.”

“You don’t?” said Clarke, feeling thrown.

“No!” said Emori. “He would never do that.” She spoke with complete conviction. “Look, just because Murphy thinks I did it doesn’t mean that I think the same thing about him.”

“What?” Clarke blinked. “You think that Murphy thinks _you_ killed Costia?”

“I was supposed to meet her at the library that day, and I didn’t, and she wound up dead,” said Emori, “and he hasn’t talked to me since then. What was I supposed to think?”

“Maybe you should start from the beginning,” said Clarke, shaking her head, "because I have no idea what you're talking about."

“You never answered my question,” said Emori, frowning. “Who are you? Why are you asking me questions about Costia?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

Clarke chewed on her lower lip for a moment before answering. “I’m just… a person. I have some training in how to deal with dangerous situations, and I’m trying to figure out what happened to Costia. Is that good enough?”

“So you’re just some do-gooder detective? I’m not sure I believe that.”

“I guess you could say that,” said Clarke. “Murphy calls me a superhero.”

Emori’s eyes widened. “Murphy’s in on all of this? Did he send you to question me?”

“No,” said Clarke. “I mean, yes, he’s in on this, but he doesn’t think that you were the one who killed her, and he didn’t want me to question you. He didn’t want me to come here, actually.”

Emori was quiet for a minute, fiddling with the woven bracelets she wore on her wrists.

“Look,” said Clarke. “I just want to help figure out what happened to Costia.”

“Fine,” said Emori, with a sigh. “What do you want to know?”

“What do you remember about that day?”

Emori picked up her drink and took a sip. “Okay. It was a Wednesday, and Costia and I always studied at the library together on Wednesdays. I was having an absolute shit day-- I dropped my phone in the toilet and I was late to three of my classes, so by the time I got back to my dorm, all I wanted to do was sleep. I completely forgot about our study date. I fell asleep for like three hours. When I woke up, Murphy was sitting on my floor and crying.”

Clarke tried to picture Murphy crying and failed completely.

“He told me what happened, and then he left. I tried to get him to stay, but he wouldn’t. The next day, I tried to talk to him, he told me to stay the fuck away from him, and that was that.” Emori took another sip of her drink.

“That was that?” said Clarke, blinking at her. “Emori, I swear, Murphy doesn’t think you killed Costia. Everyone thinks that he killed Costia, and he thought that you think the same thing. That’s why he hasn’t been talking to you.”

“Then why didn’t he just tell me that?” said Emori.

“Why didn’t you just tell him your side of it?” said Clarke.

“That’s different. Can we move on?”

“It’s actually the exact same thing,” said Clarke, “but fine, let’s move on. Do you know of anyone, anyone at all, who might have had something against Costia?”

Emori tapped her fingers against her mouth, thinking, and then shook her head. “Look, Costia was pure sunshine. Everyone loved her. She made friends with everyone. The only people she had a problem with were her parents.”

Clarke frowned. “Why’s that?”

“If you use this piece of information to spread slander about my dead friend,” said Emori, “then I will personally kill you.”

“I won’t,” said Clarke. “I swear.”

“Good.” Emori twisted her bracelets some more. “Costia’s parents were really homophobic.”

“Oh,” said Clarke, nodding.

“Yeah,” said Emori. “So when they found out Costia was into girls, they weren’t exactly happy.”

Clarke could relate. While her parents had been totally fine with it when she came out as bi, some of her friends had been pretty weird about it. Luckily, her closest friends had stuck by her, and she no longer associated with the people who had reacted badly. 

“I mean,” Emori continued, “that’s not exactly slander, because there’s nothing wrong with it. But if you tell people, I’ll still kill you. She didn’t want anyone to know.”

“I would never out anyone, I swear,” said Clarke.

“Good. Anyways, that was Costia’s secret. She tried to tell her parents, and then that backfired, so after that she never really told anyone else, except us.”

“By _us_ , I’m guessing you mean you and Murphy, right?” said Clarke. She felt a strange, empathetic ache in her chest for Emori, unable to imagine what losing her two closest friends would feel like.

“Yeah,” said Emori. She shook her head. “I feel kind of bad telling you all this, actually, but I think Cos would be okay with it. I hope.”

“Me too,” said Clarke.

“Anyways,” said Emori. “Other than that, there wasn’t anything secretive about Costia. And obviously her parents didn’t kill her.”

Clarke nodded. “Thanks for your help.” She stood up.

“Hold on a second,” said Emori. “That’s it?”

“For now, yes,” said Clarke.

“And you’re not even going to tell me who you are?” said Emori.

“I’m sorry,” said Clarke earnestly. “I can’t. But I promise I’m going to figure out who did this to Costia, and I’ll be in contact with you if I need any more information.”

Emori narrowed her eyes. “I want to help you.”

Clarke thought, once again, of Murphy. It was no surprise to her that they had been so close-- they were so similar to each other.

“Listen,” she said. “Murphy said the same thing, and I agreed. But if you want to help me, you’re going to have to work things out with him first, okay?”

Emori glared at her. “Not okay.”

“I get it,” said Clarke. “You’re both stubborn. But I can do this with or without your help. If you refuse to work it out, then I’ll just do it on my own.” She stepped out of the booth. “Thank you again, Emori.”

With that, she turned and walked away.

* * *

When Clarke returned to her dorm room, she was surprised to find a package sitting on her bed, wrapped in purple tissue paper and tied up with ribbon. She frowned, wondering who it could be from, but since there was no name on the package and Lexa was apparently still gone, there was no way for her to know.

Cautiously, she prodded the package. Feeling fairly certain that it wasn’t going to explode in her face, she untied the strings and pulled unfolded the paper.

The first thing she saw was a blue package of Oreo cookies, a bright yellow Post-It note stuck on top. Clarke picked it up and read the note, which was written in neat, printed handwriting:

_Clarke--_

_I would like to apologize once again for my behavior earlier in the day. It was very inconsiderate of me to cause such damage and create a problem between us._

_Also, I believe the shirt will look much better on you than it does on me._

_\--Lexa._

Shirt?

Clarke picked up the package of Oreos. Tucked beneath it, neatly folded, was the flower-patterned shirt Clarke had admired earlier, when helping Lexa put away her clothes.

A soft breath of air escaped from Clarke’s lips as she lifted the shirt and ran her fingers across the silky fabric. There was something strangely personal about the exchange of clothing, something intimate. She and Octavia frequently exchanged shirts and sweaters, and she’d borrowed Monty’s sweatshirts on more than one occasion, but she’d known Monty and Octavia for several years now, and doing so with them felt completely normal.

But Lexa, on the other hand… Lexa didn’t seem like the sort of person who offered pieces of herself to other people that often, and receiving something of hers-- a small piece of her-- felt like a strange honor.

Then again, maybe Clarke was just reading too much into it.

She held the shirt for another minute before carefully placing it in her drawers. With that done, she quickly changed into a soft t-shirt and shorts, climbed into bed, opened her computer, and typed a message to Murphy while simultaneously munching on an oreo.

[skygirl17@gmail.com](mailto:skygirl17@gmail.com) to [john.murphy.edu@gmail.com](mailto:john.murphy.edu@gmail.com)

_Hey, Star Boy. Just so you know, Emori doesn’t think that you killed Costia. She says that you’ve been avoiding her, not the other way around. She actually thought that you suspected her of killing Costia, because you haven’t spoken to her since last year._

_Just a heads up._

_-Sky Girl._

Murphy didn’t respond. 

She hadn’t been expecting him to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are greatly appreciated :)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading :)


End file.
